


strangers in the dark

by elwinds



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: (only the first chapter is pre-timeskip), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Background Relationships, Blood and Violence, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Slow-ish burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:07:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24332548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elwinds/pseuds/elwinds
Summary: Five years ago, Byleth's stood beside her father as he refused an old friend's invitation to return to Garreg Mach Monastery after defending the lives of three of their most prestigious students. Now, in the midst of a brutal and bloody war, fate brings her face-to-face with one of the same strangers she had met all those years ago.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 28
Kudos: 100





	1. prologue

It had been a long while since it rained. 

  
The thought would have never crossed Dimitri’s mind had the parched soil and dried out foliage not been crunching underfoot as he made his way back to Garreg Mach alongside Claude and Edelgard after their brush with impending death. The sun was only just starting to peek above the horizon, and yet the day had already been eventful enough to account for the next twenty-four hours. He knew Dedue would have an earful for him once they were reunited too. Something along the lines of having warned him against being out and about without him there for protection.  
  


A piece of him was convinced that he, Claude, and Edelgard could have handled those bandits on their own should they have needed to. All three of them were highly skilled and more than capable in the art of combat. But they were severely outnumbered, and another side — the rational side — knew that the mercenaries they had happened across were the reason they were still standing.  
  


That tall, imposing man who smelled of liquor and firewood…and his daughter. The one whose eyes held no hint of emotion as bandit after bandit fell at the hands of her sword. The way that she’d plunged her blade through their chests with little more than a calculating stare had caused something ugly inside of him to rear its head in admiration. She didn’t seem to necessarily _enjoy_ watching the life drain from their eyes, yet it didn’t seem to bother her either.  
  


The academy had been teaching him how to master the art of the lance, and how to outsmart opponents' strategy on the battlefield, but it didn’t teach him _that_. How to kill without concern about how bloodstained he was becoming. How to take lives without the ache of remorse that always seemed to throb in his temples afterwards.

_  
…you will need that skill for when you…_

  
“You know,” Claude started, and Dimitri forcibly turned his attention away from the ringing in his ears to focus on the real, tangible voice beside him, “it’s been a while since I actually watched the sun rise. Kinda nice, isn’t it?”

  
“We were fortunate to even make it to sunrise unscathed,” Edelgard responded, chin tilting towards the sky as the rising sun cast an amber glow across lavender eyes. “Had we not come across those mercenaries…” She paused and shook her head with a stoic blink. Even immediately following all the chaos, she was as poised as ever. “Captain Jeralt…the Blade Breaker. What an unlikely coincidence.”

  
It certainly was, Dimitri considered. Tales had always swirled around Garreg Mach of the infamous Blade Breaker…one of the fiercest knights that had ever served the Church of Seiros. He could dispatch hoards of enemy troops without so much as breaking a sweat. Opposing generals would surrender at the mere sight of him.  
  
  
Or so the stories went.

  
While Dimitri admittedly knew that a lot of those stories were more than likely embellished, seeing the man in action did confirm there was at least _some_ truth behind them.

  
“It is truly a shame that he denied Alois’s request to return to the monastery with us,” he said. “Both he and his daughter were so skilled. It would have benefitted us greatly to be given the opportunity to learn from them.”

  
“From them or from _her?_ ” Claude teased. Dimitri’s lips parted to respond, but Claude tossed his head back with a laugh before he could. The future king of Faerghus was almost too easy to fluster. "Did you think we wouldn't notice that look in your eyes when you were practically begging her to lend her services to the Kingdom?"   
  
  
Dimitri could admit — if only to himself — that he had been somewhat entranced by the young mercenary. He’d had plenty of experience observing fierce soldiers and skilled knights both at home in Faerghus as well as at the Officer's Academy, but never before had he seen someone handle a sword with such grace. The way she’d ducked under the weapons that the bandits had swung in her direction with reckless abandon. The way her blade had moved with her as if it was an extension of her very body...  
  


She _was_ mesmerizing. His only regret in trusting her with his life in that moment was that he hadn’t even taken the time to get her name afterwards.

  
“I’ll take your lack of a response as a response in its own right,” Claude said, his eyes meeting Dimitri’s with a playful wink. “And here I always thought you had a thing for Edelgard.”

  
“That’s enough, Claude,” Edelgard chastised at the sound of her name. “If you put half this much effort into your training, perhaps you’d have a chance of presenting a challenge to my Black Eagles during the mock battle this month.”

  
“Oh, princess,” he shook his head with a sarcastic sigh. “I look forward to seeing the look on your face when you realize how badly you’ve underestimated the Golden Deer.”

  
“He does have a point, Edelgard. You know Claude is quite the tactician. It would be in your best interest to plan accordingly.”

  
“I _never_ go into battle without a plan. All that’s left to do is slot whichever professor is assigned to our house into the plan accordingly.”

  
“Speaking of which, I wonder who Rhea’ll call on to replace the deserter,” Claude mused. “I think Alois was trying to get the Blade Breaker on board. Can’t imagine _that_ guy being cooped up in a classroom with a bunch of nobles all day.”

  
Edelgard nodded. “Agreed. While I’m grateful for their help with the bandits, I doubt that life at the monastery seemed appealing. People like that never linger in one place for too long. Nor do they typically want to.” A short silence drifted over them, and she breathed out a short sigh that seemed to punctuate all of the chaos of the morning. The sun was finally more than just a hazy glow, and the silhouette of the monastery was finally coming into view above the trees. “In any case, maybe we’ll cross paths again one day.”

  
With the sun beginning to peek above the trees, casting shadows on the dirt beneath their feet, Dimitri cast a final glance over his shoulder. The village was long out of sight, replaced by an open landscape of trees and underbrush for as far as he could see into the distance. Soon this would be just another story to tell. Another moment to look back on and reminisce about the sheer absurdity of it all.

  
Perhaps Edelgard was right, and one day he would have another run in with the Blade Breaker and his stoic, doe-eyed daughter long after this particular morning became nothing more than a distant memory. They were traveling mercenaries, after all. They would go where the wind took them, and it was certainly possible that one day it would take them into Kingdom territory once he ascended the throne.

  
For now, however, they would go on as people whose fates just so happened to cross for that brief moment in time before veering back down their separate paths.

  
They would simply go on being strangers. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you got this far thank you so much for reading! This is just a prologue to lead into/give some background for this A/U. We're going post-timeskip (and getting into the actual story where we'll follow Byleth) in the next part (the first real "chapter") so I hope you'll stick around!


	2. a life worth saving

Byleth moved through the underbrush of the woods like a predator tracking and hunting down its prey…following the thick, potent scent of smoke and the flashes of orange and gold that streaked through the night sky. She and the small group she traveled with hadn’t come prepared for battle. It was only when they were ambushed just outside of Kingdom territory that they had no choice but to engage.  
  
They made relatively quick work of the rogue mages, nevertheless. Only one remained, and had ultimately decided to retreat after the defeat of his allies.  
  
A burst of fire singed the sleeve of Byleth’s overcoat when she dodged the spell that had been cast in her direction, and she recovered quickly enough to catch a glimpse of the red fabric of his robes dragging across the foliage as he shuffled further into the trees.  
  
“Coward,” she spat quietly, thighs burning from the exertion as she kept in pursuit.  
  
Between the long trek from Fraldarius territory in the Kingdom and this impromptu skirmish, she was having difficulty remembering the last time they had stopped to rest. The night that Yuri had charmingly convinced one of the villagers in Galatea territory to allow him access to her kitchen in order to prepare a feast for the village, perhaps.  
  
 _Not important_ , she reminded herself, keeping her focus honed in on the enemy ahead of her. So much so, in fact, that a brush against her shoulder had her tightening her grip on the hilt of her sword and jerking it in the direction of the perpetrator.  
  
Her ally easily dodged the stun tactic with a familiar grunt.  
  
“Watch where you’re swinging that thing, yeah?” There was a playful tone behind the booming voice, and a mischievous glint in his eye when she flickered her gaze over to him for a brief moment of silent apology.  
  
A horse’s sharp whinny and galloping hooves drowned out her verbal reply as another familiar face rode up beside them, scarlet hair sticking to the thin sheen of sweat that covered her forehead.  
  
“A flesh wound may have been a good reminder not to sneak up on people during an enemy ambush, B,” she teased. Dark wisps of magic curled in her palms, and she pushed them forward justas the warlock they had been tracking darted between a cluster of trees. He let out a panicked wail as it menacingly curled around his legs, binding him to the forrest floor, and Hapi called to the last two members of their convoy across the distance. “A little help?"  
  
Moonlight glinted off of a long, silver blade for only a split second before it plunged through the chest of their aggressor, and with little more than a final, gurgled breath, he slumped lifelessly to the ground. Yuri glanced at what remained of the mage— the final reminder of the life that he had taken — for only a moment before steeling himself and wiping the thick coat of crimson from his sword.

One of the atrocities of war — Byleth had come to realize — was how numb it could make one to acts that they may have once recoiled at the thought of. She no longer thought of the lives they took as individuals the way she had during the beginning of the war; she no longer wondered if they’d overcome a dark past like Hapi or had a plethora of hidden skills and interests like Yuri. No…they were nothing more than nameless, faceless enemies. Threats that needed to be eliminated for the sake of her own survival.  
  
She could see much of the same sentiment in the expression that Yuri held in his eyes. Throughout the year that they had known one another, they had discovered that they were cut from the same cloth, after all. Both natural-born leaders…both too well versed in the art of taking lives in return for monetary compensation. It created an unspoken bond between them despite continuing to pretend that they were keeping one another at arms length.  
  
He stepped over the lifeless body as if it were nothing more than a fallen branch to reconvene with the rest of their group, and he re-sheathed his sword. “I’d say this little trip qualifies us for a little extra gold this month,” he commented, flicking sweat soaked strands of lavender hair from in front of his eyes with a jerk of his head.  
  
“Ugh…B must be rubbing off on you. Is gold all you think about?” Hapi asked. “Was granting us asylum instead of leaving us to rot in Abyss not compensation enough for you?”  
  
“I don’t work for free. Neither should you,” he responded simply. “It invites people to take advantage. Especially with nobles. I’ve worked for enough of them to know.”  
  
The leaves that littered the forest floor crunched under the feet of the final member of their pack when she finally emerged from where she had previously taken up position in the trees. She plucked a twig from her blonde curls with a theatrical flourish and tossed it into the foliage below her.  
  
“I, for one, did _not_ sign up to be a personal messenger,” she declared. “My magical prowess is being grossly underutilized. I should be defending Fraldarius territory from Imperial invaders on the front lines…not relaying messages to Lord Rodrigue’s wayward son.”  
  
Yuri chuckled. “Ah…but without your _magical prowess_ the rest of us may not have made it out of this encounter unscathed.”  
  
“This is no time for banter, Yuri,” she said with a huff. “We did not come prepared for battle and yet we could very well be walking directly into one.”  
  
“Constance is right,” Byleth chimed in. All eyes turned to her, as she had come to expect when squeezing her own opinion between the sarcastic quips and bold declarations of the “wolf pack.” She had always been one of few words, and among a group so bold and unabashed, that was only further emphasized. “We should keep our guard up.”  
  
Hapi easily dismounted her horse, gathering the reins into her hand to guide it through the tail end of the heavily wooded area as they cautiously moved forward. “So we might have to kill _more_ people?” She asked. She drew in a deep breath, but seemed to hold it in her chest. “Great.”  
  
“Like it or not, this is _war_ , pal. It’s kill or be killed out here,” Balthus reminded her. “And if I’m gonna die, I’d rather get taken out by a bounty hunter than someone serving the Empire.”  
  
Their back and forth continued as they all trudged ahead. Byleth lingered towards the back of the group, using the temporary silence to check herself for wounds. There were spots that felt somewhat tender, and a patch of skin where she had caught the tail end of a fire spell was beginning to blister beneath her tights. It was nothing serious enough to warrant stopping, however. They had specifically planned to arrive before daybreak for Constance’s sake, and judging by the moon’s position above them, she knew they were cutting it close.  
  
Yuri had stayed a few paces back from the rest of the group to keep time with her. It was something she had come to expect the more that she traveled alongside him…particularly when he needed a moment of respite, or someone to bounce his thoughts off of.  
  
He may have been wary of her when she and Jeralt first showed up by request of Lord Rodrigue, — the renowned Shield of Faerghus — but somewhere along the way she had earned his respect. His friendship, even.  
  
“Need me to patch you up before we keep going?” He asked.  
  
She considered it for a moment, but ultimately shook her head. “I’ll be okay until we get to Garreg Mach.”  
  
Their two-word destination drew a deep sigh from his lips.  
  
“I still don’t know what Rodrigue was thinking sending us out here,” he said. “Chances are Felix isn’t even there.”  
  
“Rodrigue said that was where he was headed last they spoke,” Byleth reminded him. “I trust him. After everything he’s done for you and your friends, you probably should too.”  
  
Perhaps, she considered, to say that she _trusted_ him was a bit of an overstatement. As far as employers went, he had been one of the more reasonable ones she and her father had worked for over the years. He treated her, Jeralt, and the rest of the mercenaries well and always provided fair and timely compensation for their work. Whether or not she trusted him on a more human level was still ambiguous.  
  
In times of war especially, that didn’t exactly come easy.  
  
“Trust? You know what they say about famous last words,” Yuri confirmed her silent sentiment with a humorless chuckle. “It’s not Rodrigue I’m worried about anyway. Word traveled fast back in Abyss, and rumor had it that Felix wasn’t exactly devoted to House Fraldarius.”  
  
Byleth took a moment to let the words settle. All that she knew of the heir to House Fraldarius were the tales that Rodrigue had told while his army rested at camp between battles, or when they would trade stories during sleepless nights. Stories of his competitive nature, and of his relationship with Glenn before his untimely death weren’t enough to allow her to pass judgement of her own.  
  
“You think he turned traitorous?” She asked.  
  
“Nah. Nothing like that,” He assured her. “Maybe he decided to work as a merc for another territory. Hell…maybe he’s dead.”  
  
The casual way in which Yuri tossed out the morbid idea barely made her flinch. In a war this bloody, it was certainly a possibility.  
  
“If you ever said that to Rodrigue, he’d have your head,” she said.  
  
Yuri tossed his head back with a chuckle. “Unless we brought back the body he wouldn’t believe it anyway. We’re talking about the same Rodrigue who’s still convinced Prince Dimitri’s alive.”  
  
The Prince of Faerghus. Byleth could still recall their brief encounter in Remire Village when she’d fought off a swath of bandits alongside the leaders of the three territories. While she had not spoken much to the prince that day, she could vividly recall how he stood before her with near perfect posture, and spoke in a poised, confident manner that she didn’t hear often bouncing from village to village as a mercenary.  
  
That, of course, made it all the more perplexing when she began to hear rumblings throughout the villages she and Jeralt frequented of the “Mad Prince” whose bloodlust would ultimately lead Faerghus and its soldiers to their demise.  
  
She had sensed that something was amiss — that there was something more sinister lurking beneath the refined and noble fashion in which he presented himself — but to slaughter his uncle…his own flesh and blood…in order to expedite his ascension to the throne…  
  
It wasn’t long after word of the prince’s execution reached Alliance territory that a messenger arrived for Jeralt in the remote village they had been staying in between jobs. The younger soldier had been dressed for weather much colder than necessary, and he presented himself much more formally than most who had arrived to request their services.  
  
 _"House Fraldarius…”_ Byleth could remember Jeralt pondering once they were alone, his brows knit tightly together in contemplation. _“They must be desperate. You know what it’ll mean if we go, right kid?”_  
  
Byleth looked at him, unblinking. She knew he hadn’t expected a verbal response anyway.  
  
 _"We’ll be taking an official position. The Empire will consider us an enemy,”_ she completed the thought before he could.  
  
Up until then, their work had consisted of handling collateral damage from the war…clearing out bandits who took advantage of villages reeling from the battles that tore through them and malcontents who looked to pillage. They had always taken care not to explicitly side with any of the three territories.  
  
But Byleth was not blind to the horrors and the chaos, and where it stemmed from. The. Empire had declared war on the Church of Seiros years ago, throwing the entirety of Fodlan into disarray. Innocent people were slaughtered in the process…all seemingly to serve the Adrestian Emperor’s desire for complete rule.  
  
While she had never put more than a fleeting moment of thought into it, somehow she knew she had chosen her side long before then.  
  
That evening had been the beginning of a new chapter. Fighting on behalf of an army was much different than keeping the peace in small villages that had been caught in the crosshairs of war. The people they killed were no longer people intending to do harm, but rather soldiers who believed they were fighting for a just cause. People who were only their enemies due to falling on opposite sides of a conflict and carrying a banner of a different color.  
  
When the thought would keep her awake, she often found herself on the outskirts of Rodrigue’s property, trading stories with him about life before the war. Most nights, he would do the talking and she would do the listening, but she found that she preferred it that way. He would tell her stories about his sons…Glenn, who had passed away some time ago and Felix, who was headstrong and distant, but would make a great leader some day…and stories of legend from the teachings of Seiros. He may have often murmured about them being the products of an “old man’s rambling,” but she found that she quite liked listening to them.  
  
The duke and the young mercenary didn’t have much in common — nothing, in fact — but it was nice to have an employer who regarded her and Jeralt as true members of his ranks, rather than as expendable resources.  
  
After treading carefully through the remainder of the wooded area they had found themselves in, Byleth and the “wolf pack” eventually emerged from the thick of the trees. As she cast her gaze beneath her to step over a thick, fallen branch, however, she could feel Yuri’s arm reach across her body to stop her.  
  
“Friend…”  
  
She looked up, her eyes following his gaze to the sight not far in front of them. The structure of a small village, surrounded by a thick layer of the same dark, fragrant smoke that she had smelled when battling the mages in the woods. The faint sounds of shouts carried through the empty space leading to where they stood.  
  
By that point, it was not an unfamiliar sound to any of them.  
  
“Looks like all the commotion cuts through where we’re headed,” he said. “We could try to find a way around it or—”  
  
“No way, pal!” Balthus called out with unwarranted enthusiasm. His big hand gripped Yuri’s shoulder with enthusiasm. “Let’s get in there! Those goons in the woods were just the appetizer…now we’re getting to the main course!”  
  
“Must you _always_ behave like such a brute?” Constance chastised. “Perhaps we should— _Byleth!_ I was in the _middle_ of speaking!”  
  
Before hearing Constance’s complaint behind her, Byleth hadn’t realized that she had taken off in a sprint towards the curling clouds of smoke and terrified screams. It was as if something unseen was compelling her…dragging her body in its desired direction without consulting her consciousness beforehand. She was powerless to follow in its path.  
  
Ash and smoke intertwined, obstructing the view in front of her the closer she got, but she could make out the silhouettes of small groups fleeing the confines of the village. Flames licked against the exteriors of homes and through once fertile farmland. As a mercenary, the site of the destruction of villages that were unable to defend themselves was something she was no stranger to.She stopped just outside of the village walls just as a woman ushered an older man and young boy away from the destruction taking place.  
  
“You’re safe now,” she said. Her voice was soft and honey sweet, and the white glow of the healing magic she had conjured up illuminated her face in the inky blue darkness. The young boy wiped his nose against the tattered sleeve of his shirt as a wound unmistakably caused by the sharp tip of an arrow began to knit closed. “See? Barely a scratch.”  
  
The older man groaned in agony, glancing back towards where others still shuffled frantically through the burning village. The familiar sounds of blades and lances clashing together in a dance for glory cut through the night sky to punctuate the scene before them.  
  
“Our home…our farmland…” he lamented as the woman’s healing magic settled over him next. He drew in a shaky breath, a sound of pure sorrow emitting from his lungs when he exhaled. “Why would they do this?”  
  
Byleth approached the three person group slowly, taking care to show that she meant no harm as she kept her hands distant from the weapon sheathed at her hip. The healer watched her with a sense of caution regardless…her eyes lingering on the untouched hilt of the sword. In a time of war, she couldn’t blame her for being on her guard. Especially when the other four members of her group caught up to her.  
  
“If you’ve come to pillage, we won’t show any mercy.” The naturally soft tone of her voice created a stark contrast to the harshness of the words being spoken.  
  
“No. We haven’t,” Byleth assured her. “We’re messengers. For Lord Rodrigue of House Fraldarius.”  
  
Another pair of injured villagers scurried out of the village’s gates, and Byleth’s eyes followed the healer as she rushed to their aid next. The previous conversation seemed to be lost on her as she conjured up another spell. “Are any of you familiar with healing magic? I…could use some help.”  
  
The spells she managed to cast over the battered and bruised civilians seemed to lose their potency as she moved through the group, . With seemingly only one healer working to aid an entire village, she was clearly succumbing to the exhaustion.  
  
Yuri and Balthus did not hesitate to kneel down next to where a small group of villagers had collapsed onto the grass to lend their aid. Balthus plucked the gauntlets from his hands, offering the little girl he had kneeled beside a warm smile and some words of encouragement before the familiar glow of white healing magic began to glow in his palms.  
  
Byleth, on the other hand, had never given the idea of white magic. Jeralt had raised her to be a warrior through and through. Even when taking the time to polish her skills with Yuri back in the Kingdom, she had never once asked him to guide her in the ways of white magic. Only to spar with her in order to perfect her swordsmanship.  
  
“House Fraldarius,” the unfamiliar woman finally seemed to ponder over the previous statement, raising her gaze towards where Yuri and Balthus worked across from her with a soft smile. “I’m sure Felix will be relieved to hear from his father.”  
  
“Felix, huh?” Yuri pondered. “So he really is in the area.”  
  
She nodded hesitantly. “We’ve been trying to keep a low profile.”  
  
“Well — I’ve gotta say — you’ve been doing a pretty good job,” Balthus said. “Garreg Mach and the surrounding area’s barely been on anyone’s radar. Haven’t heard a word about it in years, actually. Well…aside from the ghost stories about that one-eyed demon from a while back, I mean.”  
  
“My goodness…a one-eyed demon?” The woman’s brow creased in concern when she looked up from the person she had just finished healing. A crease of concern…and then a flash of sadness across her pale blue eyes. “Oh…no…Di-”  
  
The thought was cut short when another group of villagers rushed out to safety, one panting as he collapsed onto the grass at Byleth’s feet. He looked up at her — dark eyes swimming with something resembling desperation — and she could feel a tug in the pit of her stomach.  
  
Ever since she could remember, Jeralt had raised her to help the helpless. Her instincts would not allow her to continue to stand idly by. She may not have been able to heal, but she could fight.  
  
Without so much as an explanation, she took off through the gates of the village, barely registering the sound of Yuri calling after her as she found herself drawn into the action. To her left, a red-haired cavalier ushered villagers out of their homes and towards the village gates, easily clearing the path with his lance when aggressors would charge at him with their weapons drawn.  
  
To her right, however, was where the majority of the bandits seemed to linger, with each relentlessly attempting to overwhelm the tall, imposing figure that stood before them to no avail. She could barely make out more than the practiced swing of his lance in the dim moonlight, but she could see figure after figure crumple to the ground surrounding him.  
  
Two more bandits rushed the stranger from either side, leaving one with a clear opening while the other was easily impaled on his lance. Byleth drew her own sword with catlike reflexes and charged towards the skirmish. The bandit raised his heavy axe…ready to strike at where the stranger had left himself vulnerable, but was unable to follow through before her blade pierced through the center of his chest.  
  
The imposing stranger’s breathing was labored…the area around them was littered with the bodies of those who had challenged him. And he barely turned to look at her when he spoke just three, stoic words.  
  
“Who are you?”  
  
Byleth took a moment to catch her own breath and ensure that no more bandits were coming their way. Once she determined the area was clear, she sheathed her sword once again.  
  
“The person who just saved your life.”  
  
“Hmph.” The sound was low in his chest — barely audible. He kept his body facing towards the outskirts of the village, but eventually turned his head just slightly to glance at her through the curtain of blonde hair falling across his eyes. “Mine is not a life worth saving.”  
  
His words barely registered as an afterthought by the time she caught a glimpse of his face. It was not his hollowed cheeks, or the dark circles — which she was sure were a product of many restless nights — under his eyes that had her hand instinctively moving back to grip the hilt of her sword.  
  
It was the black patch of fabric that laid across his eye.  
  
She had been convinced that the stories were simply that.Something concerned parents conjured up to keep their children away from what remained of the monastery, or a manifestation of the fear soldiers must have felt when they were thrust into battle in unfamiliar territory.  
  
But there he was in front of her.  
  
Not a demon…or a beast…but a man.  
  
A man who she had met long ago.  
  
He was older now…taller, more rugged, and visibly war-torn…but the intensity of his blue-eyed gaze was unmistakable. It held the same intensity that it did when he’d fought alongside her five years prior in Remire Village. When he’d politely bowed as a show of his gratitude after the skirmish and requested that she and Jeralt lend their services to the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus.  
  
 _So…it seems that fate has altered your path once more.  
  
_ A sudden rush of dizziness caused her to become unsteady on her feet when a third voice made its presence known.  
  
That soft, childlike voice that echoed around the confines of her mind. The voice she had eventually become convinced was only a figment of her imagination. It had been so long…  
  
 _“Sothis?”  
  
_ What had previously felt like nothing more than a rush of blood to the head was suddenly unbearable. Weakened knees gave out beneath her, but the prince’s gloved hands reached out to break her fall and lower her to the ground instead before she could collapse with the entirety of her weight.  
  
Her cobalt eyes peeled open, and while the dizziness succeeded in distorting the details of his face, she could swear she saw a flash of recognition pass across his features.  
  
Lips parted to speak, but her words died at the back of her throat as she unwillingly succumbed to darkness and drifted into a dreamless abyss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much to everyone who left kudos/commented on the prologue! planning out & working on this fic has been a lot of fun, so hopefully you'll all get some enjoyment out of it too!


	3. like a ghost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy (late) valentine's day! there's really no excuse for the absurdly long delay outside of my own insecurity giving me a big ole' creative block for a while, so I really do apologize for that <3 thank you soso much to everyone who's left any kudos/comments! i cherish each and every one on of you!
> 
> in any case, I have a [tumblr](https://bylethdimitri.tumblr.com/), so you can come talk to me (and hold me accountable for taking forever to write fdknj) there!

_Post-battle celebration had always fallen outside of Byleth’s comfort zone. Something about gathering the mercenaries to celebrate the act of routing thieves or chasing bandits away from small villages had always seemed like a self-indulgent response to doing what was expected of someone in her field. That idea hardly seemed to be an afterthought for Rodrigue’s army as they rejoiced after a hard-fought victory over invading Imperial forces, however._

_That night, she found herself on the outskirts of the festivity, simply watching as Fraldarius troops feasted on authentic Faerghus cuisine and drank until they could barely keep themselves upright. Even Jeralt indulged…though she was sure that had more to do with his affinity for liquor than the actual celebratory aspect of the night. Perhaps if she’d inherited his taste for alcohol, she’d have found herself joining in as well._

_But being on the outside looking in was nothing new (or shameful, for that matter) for her. In fact, there was a certain comfort that came along with keeping her distance after having so little interaction with people during her time as a mercenary, and it offered a sense of familiarity in otherwise unfamiliar circumstances._

_“I should have expected that the renowned Ashen Demon would not be one for all of this merriment.”_

_Byleth’s hand twitched to reach for the sword at her hip, but she curled her fingers into her palm to quell the instinct when she turned to meet Lord Rodrigue’s kind eyes. Those eyes that traveled down to where her hand still lingered, as a small, amused smile touched the corners of his lips._

_“My apologies,” he said. "I didn’t mean to startle you.”_

_Byleth shook her head and dropped into a polite bow. “I’m just glad you feel well enough to join us, milord. How are your injuries?”_

_“Manageable…thanks in no small part to you and Sir Jeralt,” he responded. His gaze lingered on where his troops rejoiced with one another with an expression of wistfulness. “I suppose I’m not as agile as I once was. You, on the other hand,” he paused, looking to her with a soft smile. “Your swordsmanship is remarkable. Were Felix not already spoken for, I would be eager to introduce the two of you.”_

_A subtle heat pricked at the base of Byleth’s neck in response. Her lifestyle did not exactly leave room for “courting” in any sense of the word, and even just the abstract idea of potential suitors brought about a subconscious discomfort._

_“I jest,” he assured her with a chuckle when she failed to respond. “But please know I am deeply grateful for your aid, as are the people of Fraldarius. I know you barely had time to settle in before the ambush.”_

_Rumors had swirled through the territories they’d traveled through about the unrest in areas of the Kingdom led by nobles who still pledged their loyalty to House Blaiddyd. Even those rumors had not been enough to prepare Jeralt’s band of mercenaries for the true nature of House Fraldarius’s struggles, however. Villages were war-torn and pillaged for all that remained, and resources were few and far between. Even Lord Rodrigue himself — despite never failing to exude a brave and confident facade — couldn’t manage to hide the exhaustion that had settled deep into his features._

_It took less than a week following the arrival of the Blade Breaker and the Ashen Demon for Imperial forces to organize another invasion into the reeling territory. They were ill-prepared and outnumbered, but somehow had managed to drive the aggressors back and live to fight another day under the proud title of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus. Byleth had overheard several Fraldarius soldiers accrediting the grace of the goddess for their narrow victory. Part of her wondered if their reliance on their faith was a contributing factor to their previously low morale._

_It was one thing to struggle due to a lack of troops and resources, but if they truly believed that the goddess determined who would emerge from battle victorious, she could hardly fault them for their defeatist attitudes. Could they help but feel betrayed by that which they believed would protect them?_

_The clacking of Jeralt’s armor as he approached chased the abstract thought from her consciousness._

_“Lord Rodrigue. Glad to see you on your feet,” he greeted. He slung a heavy, affectionate arm across his daughter’s shoulders before going on. “I hope my child isn’t giving you a hard time.”_

_“Quite the opposite,” Rodrigue assured him. “She reminds me of my own.”_

_“Ah, your son. Have you two been in contact?”_

_“He sent a messenger not long ago. He says that he and his betrothed are keeping a low profile just outside of Empire territory for now.” He shook his head with an unmistakable fatherly concern behind his gaze. “I disagree with his approach, of course, but if he is going to lead House Fraldarius one day, I know I need to let him cut his own path. I just pray that, wherever they end up, the goddess Sothis continues to protect them.”_

_The goddess Sothis…_

_The name caused something to stir deep within the recesses of Byleth’s memory. A childlike voice that once echoed inside her mind, and the image of a young girl perched atop her throne._

_“You alright, kid?” Jeralt asked. At the sound of his voice, the intense familiarity seemed to wash away as quickly as it had come. “You look a little pale.”_

_She nodded, knowing it best to keep the phenomena she’d experienced all those years ago stored away as her best kept secret. Even if she were to explain, it wasn’t as if anyone would believe such an extraordinary tale._

_Even so, the goddess’s name churned through her mind like a mantra. She reached into the depths of her subconsciousness in hopes to awaken the little girl who surely slept there to no avail._

_No words came to her. No visuals of a sacred throne, or scrutinizing seafoam eyes that bore into her very soul as she chastised her. Perhaps all of it — the dreams…the sharp and unforgiving voice…the reversal of time that saved her life all those years ago — was nothing more than a complex hallucination after all._

* * *

“Come now. Are you intending to sleep _all_ day?” 

The familiar voice washed over her, seeming to coax her back into consciousness for only a moment. It didn’t take long for her to realize that — despite hearing and seeing and feeling — she was still very much asleep. Her senses felt too real to be a dream, yet not tangible enough for reality. It was something she had felt many moons ago, long before she stopped hearing Sothis’s voice. 

And then, like clockwork, the emerald-haired child was before her, leaning forward and watching her intently from where she was seated in her throne. Somewhere deep within her subconscious mind, Byleth knew it should have been jarring to see her again after such a long bout of silence…yet it was as if she had never left. As if she was exactly where she had always been.

“It has been a while, has it not? My voice must have given you quite a scare back there,” she said with a quiet laugh. “For that, I apologize.”

Byleth shook her head, a silent confirmation that there was no need. 

“Where have you been?” She asked.

Sothis furrowed her eyebrows with a frown. “Huh. Not even a hello? How rude of you,” she chastised. “I have always been with you, however, I was… _asleep_ for some time.” Byleth held her gaze with an unflinching expression, and she drew in a deep sigh. “Do you remember how weary I grew not long after the knights and the little ones returned to their monastery? It may not sound plausible, sleeping all that time…yet I know it to be true.”

Somewhere in the depths of her subconsciousness, Byleth knew the same. As if their knowledge of the world around them was interconnected. 

“Things have certainly changed since last we spoke,” Sothis continued. A small smile played on her lips, and she laughed softly. “You may have taken the scenic route, but I do believe we are finally where we are supposed to be. Perhaps that is why I am able to speak with you once more.” Byleth glanced around the empty room — the dreamscape that blocked her reality from view — and let her words settle. “Surely you cannot think this little reunion with the prince is merely a coincidence.”

“I hardly know what to think,” Byleth admitted. “Faerghus all but fell because the prince was supposed to have been-”

“Nothing more than a corpse? And yet he is still very much alive. How curious,” she pondered. A delicate hand cupped her chin, as if she were deep in thought. “Perhaps he had someone there to grant him a second chance like I did you all those years ago.” 

_Perhaps_ , Byleth considered. Under normal circumstances the idea would have seemed laughable.

Regardless of what kept him alive, however, the question of where he had been and why he had never returned to liberate his people and reclaim the throne remained. From their brief encounter, it was clear that he was not the same man she’d fought alongside in Remire Village all those years ago. She wondered if he knew how dire things had become with Fhirdiad under Imperial control. Or if he even cared, for that matter. 

“There are things I’ve been wanting to ask you,” she finally said, turning her full attention back to where Sothis sat before her. “The goddess who the followers of Seiros believe watches over Fodlan…you-”

“I have my share of questions as well…but…I’m suddenly feeling a bit unwell.” Her eyes drifted closed, and she pinched the narrow bridge of her nose before she continued. “And _you_ must wake up. Go on. Walk your chosen path, or some such.” She stifled a yawn before continuing. “That motley crew you travel with must be starting to worry, and- … _Someone is coming_.” 

The quickly uttered words functioned as a catalyst, and suddenly Byleth could see an unfamiliar room slowly coming into focus as her eyes peeled open. Only the bed she found herself in was occupied — with the others remaining untouched and neatly made — and the earthy scent of herbs seemed to wrap around her senses. 

She stilled when footsteps approached the room’s entrance.

Instinct did not kick in. She made no move to reach for a weapon or find some way to defend herself even as the looming figure approached the entrance of the room. Perhaps she subconsciously knew she was not in danger. Perhaps it was Sothis who knew and unwillingly imparted the information onto her vessel.

Byleth’s eyes took only a moment to adjust to the candlelight and take in the vaguely familiar sight before her. The fallen prince moved as silently as a ghost, stopping only to cast his gaze into the infirmary.He seemed to tense at the sight of her alert and conscious form, but he made no attempt to flee. Instead, his gloved hand touched the doorframe, and he took just one step to cross over the threshold from the silent hallway. 

“Ashen Demon. Daughter of the infamous Blade Breaker…though I suppose you carry quite the reputation of your own.” His voice held a rasp that she was sure it hadn’t years ago. The observation caused her to miss her opportunity to respond. “It has been a lifetime since last we met. I…remember it well.” 

Their first meeting truly did feel like a lifetime ago, yet, she could remember it vividly as well. The cut of his lance through the otherwise still, moonlit sky. The future Alliance leader’s sharpened arrows whizzing over their shoulders to connect with their aggressors. The sharp edge of the bandit leader’s axe cutting through her flesh before she was face-to-face with Sothis's wrath. 

Those memories lingered at the back of her mind, however. In that moment, she only knew that she was conversing with a dead man. A man who was thought to be long laid to rest, and who she’d watched the people of Fraldarius continue to mourn each time their villages were ambushed. 

“Your Highness,” Dimitri’s shoulders seemed to tense unwillingly in response to the title. “You’re…”

There was no need to complete the statement. Surely he knew that he was believed to have been dead, and she assumed he must have expected her surprise. 

“Alive? I suppose I am,” he responded, ensuring that he understood the previous sentiment. If he had felt anything when he confirmed his own life, he had not allowed it to show in his expression.

A plethora of questions floated through her consciousness. Where had he been all of this time? Why had he not at least found the opportunity to inform Rodrigue, who grieved for him as if he were another son? Why had Felix been so silent on the issue even in his correspondence with his father?

“Why haven’t you made contact with the Kingdom nobility?” Was what she eventually settled on. “The situation there is only getting worse, and your people…they still mourn-” 

“The Dimitri they mourn for is dead,” he barked. He turned his back to her, shoulders so tight they practically trembled beneath his armor. “I am no king. My only objective is to tear that vile woman’s head from her shoulders and finally put an end to her reign of tyranny. Even if it costs me whatever remains of my life.” 

Byleth didn’t so much as blink at the violent imagery. She had witnessed people burned alive in the confines of their heavy armor…wiped spatters of hot blood from her face after battles as if they were mere streaks of mud. Words were no longer enough to make her flinch.

“What remains of the Kingdom won’t survive much longer without you. Margrave Gautier and Lord Rodrigue are doing all they can but-”

“Rodrigue…” Whether he had realized it or not, his tone softened when he spoke the familiar name. “Rodrigue is…?”

She nodded. “Very much alive. Yes.” 

A fleeting emotion seemed to flicker across Dimitri’s visible eye. As quickly as it manifested, however, it had disappeared. “And I suppose that wretch Cornelia has seized Fraldarius as well.”

“No. But it isn’t far off. That’s why Rodrigue is sending for Felix.”

His expression was unreadable again, as if whatever had come close to manifesting at the mention of Rodrigue was forcefully shoved away, and he declined to respond. Instead, he turned away from her, his cloak nearly dragging across the pristine floor of the infirmary. 

“If it is Felix you wish to speak to, you may do so during war council,” he said. 

“Right now I wish to speak to you.”

Despite giving off an air of indifference, he lingered in the doorway at the sound of the blunt statement.

“For what purpose?” He asked. “I’ve already made it clear that returning to Faerghus is not an option. As a sellsword, the fate of the Kingdom should make no difference to you anyway.” 

“Rodrigue is a good man, and my father and I agreed to support him. I’d rather not see Fraldarius fall. ” 

Dimitri breathed out a bitter chuckle. “Yet you say so with such indifference.”

Byleth bit her tongue. Arguing the point was hardly an effective use of either of their time, especially when she had such little evidence to make her case. All her life she had been regarded as “indifferent.” Prompted by men with liquor on their breath to smile when the mercenaries would join local villagers for drinks after a job. Chastised by ungrateful clients about seeming disinterested in helping their cause. One more misunderstanding was nothing worth noting. 

Her expression, however, didn’t budge as she mulled the thoughts over. Only the rugged prince broke the silence. 

“Tell me…how many lives have you taken on behalf of this war?” He asked. 

“I couldn’t give you an exact number,” she responded. “Killing is one of the realities of war. In times like these, we haven't the luxury of dwelling on it.”

“Yes.” Something in his tone was softer with the short word of agreement than it had been. A short lull in conversation lingered between them before he continued. “You and I are much the same in that regard.” 

The same. Seeing him in front of her — gaunt and battered…unwilling to return to his homeland to fulfill his duty — it was difficult to wholeheartedly agree. 

At the end of the day, she knew she had her reasons for fighting. For a peaceful future for those who had gotten inadvertently wrapped up in this political conflict. For her father and the rest of the mercenaries they traveled with. 

If not for his home, or his people, what could he have been fighting for, she wondered. To punish those who stood against him with a gruesome death? For the momentary rush that came alongside standing on the opposite end of someone’s blade?

She hadn’t the chance to respond, because soon the sound of footsteps and hushed whispers came bustling into the infirmary. Dimitri’s head instinctively jerked towards the intrusive sounds — like prey on high alert for predators lurking between the trees — but neither new party seemed to notice until they were already passed the threshold between the hallway and the small room. 

“Don’t worry, Mercie. I tried out a new recipe this time that uses way fewer ingredients. The trick is to mix in a little bit of — _BAH!_ Your Highness!”

The petite red-head jumped when she looked up from the floor to meet the prince’s gaze, a jerk of her arms causing the little pastries that she carried into the room to rattle and slide on the plate she used to transport them. 

Dimitri did nothing but stare back at her in response, his gaze steely and unmoving despite her frantic chattering. 

“S-Sorry for yelling like that…I just didn’t expect to see you in here,” she explained. A short pause lingered between them before she started again. “Not that you’re not welcome in here or anything! You can stay as long as you’d like, of course!”

“I was just leaving,” was all he offered in response. 

And then — like a ghost — he was soundlessly drifting back out of the room as quickly as he’d come.The unfamiliar young woman let out a shaky breath once he was out of earshot. Whether it was a sigh of relief, sadness, or nervous tension was lost on Byleth, nevertheless. Picking up on those subtleties had never been her strong suit after all. 

The one who came into the room alongside the pastry-bringer — the blonde healer who she’d met outside of the ransacked village before she’d lost consciousness — allowed the thin line of her mouth to drop into a frown. 

“He wasn’t always like this,” she said. 

A small laugh rattled around in the confines of Byleth’s consciousness in response. 

_“I should hope not,”_ Sothis’s familiar voice chimed in. _“That behavior does not seem very befitting of a king, if I do say so myself.”_

Consciously, Byleth forced her eyes not to dart around in search of the source of the sound that she knew she wouldn’t find in the physical world around her. She would have to get used to taking care not to physically acknowledge the voice she carried with her, lest she be looked at as having gone mad from the war. Luckily, the two tangible presences in the room were distracting enough in that moment to pay little mind to Sothis’s quipping. A smile had found its way back onto the healer’s gentle features as she looked to Byleth once more.

“I’m so glad to see that you’re awake. Everyone will be so relieved,” she said. 

“Oh! We baked some sweets for you to try if you’re hungry!” The other added, and she set the nearly overflowing plate down onto the foot on the bed.  
  
  


“I can brew you some tea if you’d like too.” Before Byleth could respond, the healer seemed to perk up with another thought. “Oh…I’m so sorry. I haven’t even introduced myself! I’m Mercedes. You can call me Mercie. And this is Annette.”

Annette raised her now free hand in a cheerful greeting. “Your name’s Byleth right?” She asked. Byleth nodded in response. “So you really are Captain Jeralt the Blade Breaker’s daughter?”

“That’s what I’ve been told, yes.” She could hear Sothis groan incredulously, and it left Byleth wondering if she had said something amiss. Before anyone could dwell on it, she pivoted towards the previous topic. “I think I actually could use a cup of tea if it isn’t too much trouble.”

If anything _was_ amiss, Mercedes wasn’t letting on to it. Instead, she smiled warmly, clasping her delicate hands in front of her. 

“Of course not!” She chirped. “I’ll go brew some now. You just wait here, okay? We wouldn't want you overdoing it so soon after your recovery.” 

As Annette and Mercedes bustled out of the room, Byleth found that she couldn’t stop her thoughts from drifting back to that ghost of a man. The Fallen Prince. The One-Eyed Demon. 

Could they have truly been as similar as he seemed to believe? 

_“It seems he’s quite a troubled man,”_ Sothis said in response to the silent question. _“It would surely benefit you not to spend too much time dwelling on what he has to say.”_

Byleth nodded — half to herself and half to Sothis — though something in the back of her subconscious wondered if there wasn’t quite a bit more to it than that. 


End file.
